


Can't be Tamed

by Layneee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, M/M, Rutting, Wing Kink, Wingfic, miley cyrus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Layneee/pseuds/Layneee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean blames Claire for the predicament he's in.</p><p> </p><p>Where Dean takes music advice from teenagers, then regrets everything. </p><p> </p><p>Until he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't be Tamed

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea's been bouncing around in my head for a while. And for anyone who hasn't listened to Miley Cyrus and her Dead Petz, it's totally the kind of stoner music Claire would listen to. Believe me!
> 
>  
> 
> and there's no Cassifer... go with it.

Dean blames Claire for the predicament he's in. 

 

* * *

 

You see, it goes like this. Ever since that vamp case it’s become somewhat of a tradition for Dean and Sam to stop in at the Mills homestead for a couple days. They get some home cooking, get babied a little, and get to do some laundry without wasting all their quarters. Plus, Jody thinks it’s good for the girls to have some kind of male influence in their lives. 

 

(Even if Dean can think of a few reasons that make Dean and Sam unworthy candidates for that.)

 

On one such weekend, the brothers had gotten to the house just after dinner hit the table, and entered the house to quite the spectacle. Jody was sitting at the head of the table glaring at Claire, who was glaring at Alex, who was laughing her freakin’ head off. 

 

Though her guffaws, Alex was trying to speak and Dean could make out just about every other word. “I can’t… listen…. crap… Cyrus!”

 

“Shut up, Alex!” Claire shrieked. “How the hell was I supposed to know _she_ was on there?”

 

“Hey!” Dean cut in, somehow breaking himself out of his stupor, because that was the first time he’d seen the teens fight in a while. “What’s going on here?”

 

Jody’s eyes snapped up to his and she pushed herself away from the table. “Did you know Claire smokes pot?” She asked with barely controlled mama-bear rage. 

 

Her question was undermined, however, by Alex’s much louder question. “Did you know Claire listens to Miley Cyrus?”

 

Both brothers were quiet, not quite knowing which issue to address first. 

 

It was Claire that eventually broke it. “It's not like that.” Both brothers gave her their best stares and she added, “I really like this one stoner Spotify, okay? I didn’t know it was Miley. I _swear_!” 

 

“Claire!” Jody scolded, upset that Claire didn’t seem to get the real issue. 

 

“She’s not that bad!” Claire defended. “Shut up!” 

 

Then, somehow, Dean found himself having dinner, but talking about the Miley Cyrus discography while he did it. 

 

(They never did end up talking about the pot. Because obviously _the music_ was the real problem.)

 

Dean mostly toned it out. He didn’t have an opinion to give, obviously. But it was hilarious, because Sam did. (Apparently he and Jess used to ignore schoolwork and watch _Hannah Montana_ instead.)

 

Then Claire had to bring up some song, which prompted Alex to ask, “I wonder if her wings look like Castiel’s.”

 

Just the mention of the angel grabbed Dean’s attention, considering some less than familiar feelings he was starting to come to terms with. But mentions of his _wings?_ That was a whole other deal. “Wings?” He asked, going for nonchalance. 

 

“Yeah, in the video. They were pretty cool,” Alex clarified, like someone who _was also definitely a fan._

 

“I guess they might have been,” Claire said. “Who knows.”

 

* * *

 

That was it. One dinner conversation, and Dean can’t seem to shake it. He thought watching the video would help, but boy was he wrong. He found the video easily, and Alex was right, the wings were pretty cool. The problem was the damn song. 

 

And then the dreams started. 

 

* * *

 

Every night now, Dean goes to sleep knowing exactly what’s going to happen. And tonight isn’t any different. 

 

Dean’s in a big room. There’s a wall of curtains in front of him, and even though he know’s what’s behind them, he’s still filled with excited anticipation. He looks around and there are a bunch of other hunters dressed in fancy clothes, all looking at the same thing he’s looking at. He can hear the click of heels and the shutters of cameras. 

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” He hears, and he doesn’t have to look, but he does anyway. In front of the curtains in Crowley, dressed in an old fashioned black and white tux, with the cummerbund and bowtie. “Welcome to the museum. Tonight we are proud to unveil our greatest exhibit yet. A creature so rare it was believed to be extinct.” There’s a murmur in the crowd, and Dean finds himself taking part. “Well tonight, we shall see! Ladies and gentlemen, in captivity for the first time, the rarest creature on earth, Avis Cassius!”

 

The curtains raise to reveal a birdcage. And in the center of it is a messy nest. Dean can’t see anything at first, but then something starts to move. He can make up a dark head of hair, then a face as the creature turns to look at the crowd. 

 

It’s Castiel. Dean knows this. And still he’s awestruck. 

 

The creature crawls out of the nest carefully, until he’s standing in front of the cage bars. He’s wearing a tight pair of black leather shorts, with strips of leather wrapping one leg and his torso. His hair is crazy, standing straight from the top of his head. 

 

But it’s his eyes that strike Dean. 

 

Blue. 

 

Beautiful.

 

 _Rebellious_. 

 

They're framed by smudges of black, making them even more striking. 

 

Everyone claps, and a photographer pushes to the front of the crowd. He snaps a picture and there is a flash of light. 

 

Suddenly giant wings are wrapped around the creature, sheltering him from the audience. The feathers are onyx-black, with midnight blue at the tips. With them, they carry a smell like dirt and musk. The crowd gasps and start to titter, but Dean is silent; captivated by what he’s seeing. Then the wings open completely, spreading nearly ten feet in either direction. People start to run. 

 

That's when the music starts. It’s nothing Dean can understand, just an amalgamation of beats with the odd word here and there. What he watches, however, is this beautiful creature as he dances, gyrating and twisting. There are other around him, now, but they don’t hold nearly as much of Dean’s attention. 

 

_I go through demons like money_

_smitin' with my hands_

_They try to kill me_

_but they realize they can’t_

 

He’s got another creature in front, and one behind, and he’s rolling his hips forward then back. And he’s looking right at Dean. 

 

_I can't be tamed_

_I can't be tamed_

 

All of a sudden Dean finds himself at the end of a long hallway, and this magnificent creature is prowling right for him, and Dean is transfixed. 

 

_If there was a question about my intentions,_

_I'll tell ya_

_I'm not here to kill  ya_

_Or tell you to go to hell_

_(I’ve saved you from that)_

 

The images change rapid fire. The creature in a bed of peacock feathers, looking right at Dean. The creature dancing with the flock, looking right at Dean. The creature in a dark room, grinding against faceless bodies, looking right at Dean.

 

_I wanna fly,_

_I wanna drive,_

_I wanna go_

_I wanna be a part of a hunt that I don't know_

_And if you try to hold me back I might explode_

_Baby, by now you should know_

 

_I can't be tamed_

_I can't be tamed_

 

The music drones on in the background as Dean finds himself back in that pit of feathers, while the creatures runs masculine hands and slim fingers all over his toned chest and down to his little shorts. 

 

_I can't be tamed_

_I can't be tamed_

 

The last thing Dean see’s before he wakes up is the creature in his nest, bars of the cage broken and twisted, black wings out and intimidating. 

 

And he’s looking right at Dean. 

 

* * *

 

And, again, like every night for the last week, Dean wakes us with a mess of come in his boxers, and a growing hate for Miley Cyrus. 

 

“Son of a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

The dreams just keep happening. What started out as a weird thing that happened has turned into a real annoyance. 

 

Dean finds himself humming the damn song, and tapping his foot to the unheard beat when he’s researching. Sam, thankfully, hasn’t noticed. Or if he has, he just doesn’t recognize the song. Either way, Dean is relieved. He doesn’t know how to talk about _whatever_ is happening to him. 

 

He knows he needs to figure it out soon. Because things are just going to get worst when he see’s Cas next. 

 

The angel has kept himself busy, but Dean knows its’ just a matter of time before he stops by the bunker to say hello to the Winchesters and raid their library. 

 

And Dean's not entirely sure he’ll be able to control his dick when that time comes. 

 

* * *

 

Nope. He definitely can’t control his dick. 

 

Cas has been in the bunker, and Dean’s been locked and loaded ever since. In his minds eye he can see those huge, frickin’ awesome wings sprouting from his friends back. And he imagines striping him down to see if he’s wearing little leather shorts under his neatly pressed pants. 

 

Sam’s gone into town on a run, so it’s just Dean and Cas in the bunker, which makes escaping less than likely. Cas would feel bad if Dean ditched him to research himself. And Dean doesn’t even want to. Not really. 

 

Because before the whole dream thing started Dean was almost sure about his _feelings_ for the angel. Cas has been there for Dean for years, and Dean can’t think of life without the angel by his side. The dreams have only solidified the idea. 

 

But now it’s just so _awkward_. How does he even start to talk about feelings without accidentally saying something incriminating? 

 

He’s nearly positive Cas feels the same way, but can he really bet on that? Life’s never been kind to Dean Winchester, why would it start now? What if Cas secretly hates Dean? 

 

“Dean? Are you alright?” 

 

Dean’s head snaps up, and he faces his friend. “Yeah, definitely. Why?”

 

“You looked very concerned,” Cas says. He places the book he was reading on the table and leans forward. “What were you thinking about?”

 

 _You_ , Dean thinks. _Your hair. Your friendship. Your lips. Your voice._ “What did your wings look like?” Dean finds himself saying. 

 

Cas looks surprised, and Dean wants to disappear. “Uhh,” Cas mumbles. “Well, that’s what you were thinking about?”

 

Dean shrugs, because _yeah_. That’s what’s kinda been on his mind for weeks. 

 

“They were… unique,” Cas finally says. “The archangels were the first of God’s creations, so their wings were the largest. As God continues to create the Host, the wings got smaller. I was one of the last, so mine were small comparatively.”

 

“How big were they?” Dean asks, his mind visualizing Cas with wings the size of a chickens sprouting from his coat. 

 

“Here, this will be easier.” Cas leans across the table and holds two fingers to Dean’s forehead. 

 

Visions from his past flit in front of his vision. They're all times he spent with Cas, before the fall, but instead of the friend he’s used to, Cas has huge black wings. They’re each nearly fifteen feet long, sleek and gorgeous. 

 

 _Just like the video_ , Dean thinks as he watches the new memories of his friend. 

 

“What video?” Cas asks as he pulls his hand away. 

 

Dean can feel his cheeks flush as he thinks about it. He thinks about lying, but then he looks at Cas’ honest face and he just can’t. “It’s this music video. The chick has these big wings. They looked a lot like yours. But, uh, yours are cooler.”

 

Again, it seems like Dean renders Cas speechless as he looks at the hunter. “You think my wings were cooler?”

 

Dean doesn’t like how he used the past tense, but nods. “Miley Cyrus got nothin’ on you, man.”

 

“Thank you, Dean. That mean’s a lot coming from you.” Cas’ voice sounds so damn earnest, Dean’s nearly a puddle in his seat. 

 

“Cas, I think you’re pretty much the coolest thing, ever,” Dean mumbles. “You’re this badass angel, but you're also my best friend and you always got my back. And you love Sam too, which is important. You’ve made mistakes, but they were always for us. And you just do so much, and I still don’t know what we’ve done to deserve you.”

 

Dean knows he’s rambling. But he can’t stop. Cas is looking at him with big, wide, blue eyes. He opens and closes his mouth, like he doesn’t know how to but it, which is good cause Dean isn’t done. 

 

“You know all the bad things about me, man, and still you’re here. I’ve tried to hurt you, and you never stopped carin’. You make me wanna always be close to you, cause you make everything better.” Dean watches as Cas stands slowly and walks around the table to where Dean’s sitting. “And you have these eyes that I can’t get out of my head. And now I know you have these badass, sexy wings just like in my dreams.”

 

“You dream about me?” Cas asks quietly. He’s a foot away. 

 

“Every night,” Dean whispers, looking up at the angel. 

 

Then Cas has both hands under Dean’s armpits and he’s hauling the hunter up and depositing him on the library’s sturdy table. He steps in-between Dean's spread legs and frames Dean’s face with both his hands. 

 

And like that, they're kissing. 

 

Cas’ lips are still a little clapped and his stubble rubs against Deans like velcro, but it’s also so damn perfect Dean can’t help but sob a little as he fists the back of his friends trench coat in his fists, right where the wings would be. 

 

Dean leans back against the table, and Cas follows until he’s lying practically on top of him. Their lips continue to move together, until Cas’ tongue prods at Dean’s mouth. Dean opens right away, and the kiss’ intensity skyrockets. 

 

Cas starts to rut against Dean, who is immediately still again. He can feel the hard, hot line of Cas where he lines up with Dean. 

 

They’re still kissing, but it’s more like they are just sharing breath as Dean moans into the angels mouth. 

 

“Cas. _Cas_.” Dean groans after a particularly spectacular thrust. If this wasn’t years in the making Dean would be embarrassed for how close he already is. But it was, and he’s not. Instead he just fists Cas’ coat closer, and thrusts up harder until he’s right on the edge. “I think I might love you, man.” 

 

Cas’ breath hitches, and his hips sputter, looking the nearly perfect rhythm as he comes in his pants. “Dean! Oh, I love you too.”

 

Just like that, Dean’s following him over the edge. And it’s perfect. 

 

“I’d like to see this video,” Cas says later, once they've relocated to Dean’s bed. 

 

“Yeah, alright angel.” Because how can Dean say no?

 

* * *

 

 

He really should send Claire a fruit basket. 

**Author's Note:**

> After this I really with I was talented enough to do that think where you copy/paste someone else head onto a video. Man, do I ever.


End file.
